Holiday Short-Shorts -- Our Contributors' Gift to You!

These are all original holiday short-shorts written by our regular contributors. I sent them the following prompt:

For our next writers roundtable, we're going to create short-shorts for the holidays. Pick any holiday you celebrate during this season and write a one-short-paragraph (or the multi-paragraph equivalent in length) story with that holiday as the setting. You may choose any genre, from literary to horror to pulp adventure and everything in between. I'll post them in a blog article on December 21st. 

Like the awesome bunch of writers they are, they turned out to provide original fiction for you this season. 

Happy holidays, everyone!

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Let It Snow

The wind howled and raged about the cabin.  Icy pellets hammered at the windows as sleet slashed at the roof.  

The hearth roared to life, but was quickly snuffed out.  The family huddled together for more than warmth as the storm blasted the log walls.  With a shudder and groan, timbers succumbed.

By morning, a blanket of snow had smothered them all.

But the radio, still blaring, cheerfully declared their epitaph:  Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

        -- Ef Deal

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As Easy As Carving A Turkey

The table sat with all the traditional trimmings. Tourists of dressing, green bean casserole,  and cranberry sauce encircled the roasted guest of honor, Tom Turkey, like a wagon train siege from indigenous raiders. China plates lay before each family member. The cutlery tremored to dive in, as did the crystal stemware waiting to be kissed by each family member in front of them. Silence dripped over the room like Giblet gravy atop mountains of mashed potatoes. Finally, nary a sound was heard from the usual traditions' chaotic hustle and bustle. Silence. All it took was that carving knife on the table to achieve it. A small smirk crept across my face as I sat there, thankful for that silence. All it took to make the entire room an homage to cranberry sauce was that sharpened blade. It was as easy as carving a turkey.

        -- Jason Bullock

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Christmas Lights

The most wonderful time of the year was the Christmas lighting competition in the Florida gated community that made the holiday spirit year after year. Each family put their thoughts, heart and soul into a new theme for the display that transformed their house as early as July. House number 62 of 110 won two years in a row with a live Bethlehem Nativity scene then an ice rink with fake snow blowing machines to make a winter wonderland. House number 59 was determined to win the prize money jackpot and bragging rights for the whole year. December 10th, the night the HOA president toured the neighborhood, house 62 knew they would win another year when the husband dressed as Santa Clause in a metal-built sleight with shiny lights and reindeer. An E-newsletter bulletin went out early morning of the 11th to notify the passing of the representative of Santa in the beloved neighborhood. The family of house 59 sat on their front porch with mugs of peppermint shakes, gazed at the blacked-out house as their 2nd place house glowed of Christmas spirit."

Santa's lights and the metal sleigh could have caused a spark," the wife beamed.

          -- Krystal Rollins

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Better Watch Out

No one ever believed her when she said she'd heard reindeer paws on the housetop.  They laughed when she startled at the sound of bells.  Every Christmas, she was the brunt of their mockery.  

"Guess who still believes in Santa!  Thirty years old!  She still lies awake to see him!"

Wide-eyed, trembling, she waited, the blanket tucked up to her chin, all in vain.  In the morning, she awoke to photos beneath her tree again: her eyes closed, her hair spread wide on the pillow, her brow knit with terrified dreams, the blanket pulled back to reveal her, and the grim captions:  He sees you when you're sleeping.

        -- Ef Deal

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Fool’s Gold

The tree in the hotel lobby is fake, a conglomeration of dull green plastic festooned with gold and silver balls that scream “I came as a boxed set” and a sparkly garland wound around its girth like a fuzzy golden snake, strangling the tree into dull mundanity. I sit across from the fake tree in a surprisingly comfortable chair next to the fireplace, pretending to watch the yapping heads on the television as mumbling tourists check in and out of the hotel. The fire glows silently beside me, as fake as the tree, an electric perception of crackling radiance without heat. It doesn’t need to warm me, as it is a strange sixty degrees in December. Someone has placed silver snowflake decals on the lobby windows and doors as if to summon pristine Dickensian snow in defiance of the unnatural air outside. My heart keeps speeding up and slowing down and it is becoming difficult to breathe. It’s not fair to be here where people can see me, but the pills hit too quickly and I no longer have the strength to walk to the elevator and the privacy of my room. I feel sorry for the clerk, who’s about to have a terrible day, and hope she keeps the fifty I’ve tucked into the chair. Better to her than whoever ends up claiming me. I wonder who will bother to come. It doesn’t matter. My heart is stuttering now, and I fix my gaze on one of the golden balls on the fake tree. It reflects my face in a grotesque distortion, giant eyes and small mouth, held prisoner in an orb of fool’s gold. I am captivated by its gaze, myself watching myself, seeing me fade quietly by the glow of the heatless fire. My arms and legs feel heavy now, and I try not to be afraid. The nodding heads on the television say it has never been this warm this late in sunny St. Louis. Then on to the next tragedy.

          -- Elizabeth Donald

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Like Waking

“It’s like the world is painted in dreams,” Alice said almost every time Ivan took her skating. Today she had dressed in a red skirt and sweater with white trim, like a living candy cane on his arm as they darted across the ice, weaving in and out of other skaters dodging around and through them. Still, she held his hand with a sort of dragon-like grip, as much by his wrist as by his palm. His fingers were left untouched to freely chill in the cold. “I’m sorry to be so clingy today,” she said, and he smiled, not minding in the least. “It’s just that today feels different, like the edges of the dream are turning clear, solid. It doesn’t make sense.” He smiled again, loving the way she put things and how pretty her little red lips were with each syllable. “Like I’m waking up whether I want to or not.” She yawned and let go of his hand suddenly. When he reached to regain her grip, his hand passed through. “Oh!” she said, and the world was gone.

        -- Sean Taylor

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Santa's Helpers 

Dear Santa,

I know about your helpers and how it all works. I hope it’s okay that I know. I like having the secret. I just wanna make sure you know and they know I’m really being good, since Mommy and Daddy keep blaming me for things.

I didn’t mean to snoop. It started when Brandon didn’t put his trucks away, and they ended up broken. He blamed it on me and I ended up grounded – I didn’t do it, I swear! I know the helpers like things clean. That’s why they came out at night and smashed them. They tore up my report card when I didn’t get good grades, but I’ll do better. Mommy says I left threw leftovers in the trash because I was being bratty, but I swear it was the helpers getting mad she made meatloaf again. Then I got grounded for lying. Even though I did’t. 

I’ve been leaving them cookies since then, and they seem to like that. Mommy got mad and said I wasted food, though. Her perfume got smashed after that, but at least she blamed the dog.

They come talk to me sometimes, though it’s hard to understand them through the walls. I like having someone always watching over me, even if it means I gotta be good. I know I’m not supposed to see them, but I had to go to the bathroom one night and saw one running back to the space behind my closet wall. Sometimes I see them when they peek out through cracks in the ceiling. 

This year for Christmas I told Mommy and Daddy I wanna bike, but I really wanna be a helper. The whispers in my bedroom closet say I can join them. I gotta help them punish my brother and Mommy and Daddy, then go to the special place behind the walls with them. I’m scared, but I think I can do it. I’ve already been moving things so Daddy tripped bad on the stairs and had to get a cast. He let me sign it, and I drew a spaceship on it.

The helpers say it was a start, but I have to save the big tricks until Christmas. Once I help them, I can come meet you through the in between places they talk ‘bout. I’m gonna try on Christmas Eve and they said they’ll help show me how. 

Have a safe trip. See you soon and can’t wait to join you next year! 

Love,

Jilly

          -- Selah Janel 

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A Savior is Born

Mama and Pap with whiskey nightcaps were comatose in liquor-induced naps...

...Leaving presents unwrapped and the tricycle semi-assembled.  Her gut wrenched; her goodwill bolted; she wrapped herself and by 5am tucked Christmas under the tree before climbing exhausted, betrayed, into bed.

Come 7, she mumbled sleepily, but they couldn't rouse her.  

Mama and Papa sneered.  "God knows what she was doing all night.  Hell with her.  Let her sleep."  And they sipped more hair of the dog.

Downstairs, the little ones shouted, "Look what Santa brought us!"

No saint.  No elf.  Just 14, and trying to cope with Christmas spirits.

        -- Ef Deal

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Right Down Santa Claus Lane

“I hear the bells!” Celia exclaimed. But the dark-haired man with the shotgun told her to shut up and kicked her chair, making her wobble but not quite fall over. Though her arms and legs were tied, she used them as best she could to maintain her balance. “It’s Santa Claus!”

“The only Santa we need is your dad’s money, kid, and you’d better hope he loves you enough to pay up.” The other man, a blonde guy with a goatee dyed bright blue, grinned and exposed dirty teeth. “Or else somebody’s not gonna have a very merry Christmas.”

Celia grinned as the bells clanged and sang again from the roof. She looked toward the chimney in the old house the men had taken her to. Dust and ancient soot fell. The dark-haired man turned at the noise from the bricks. The blonde one followed suit. Then the door kicked in behind them and they spun round like a top.

Two elves in green tights stood there, each holding a bag of toys. One pointed toward the chimney. 

“Ho, ho, ho,” came a thunderous voice. “I think coal may not be enough for you two this year,” said the fat man in the red suit, as he cracked his knuckles loudly. 

        -- Sean Taylor